Throughout our South American odyssey, we had felt irresistibly drawn towards La Paz or - more specifically - drawn towards Death Road, which lurks just outside the Bolivian capital. Now that we had arrived it was time for the talking to stop and the action to begin. While the Top Gear crew drove it in the comfort and relative safety of their cars (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WXLxszv9eCM), we were going to bike down the World's Most Dangerous Road (WMDR).
Death Road in all its glory
Built in the 1930s by Paraguayan prisoners of war, the North Yungas Road was barely known outside of Bolivia until the 1990s when its fame (or infamy) rocketed after the Inter-American Development Bank dubbed it the WMDR. 'Does it deserve its nick-name?', I hear you ask. Well, let's review the evidence. Exhibit A: along the road's entire 42km length there is 1 barrier, maybe 2. These barriers are as useless as a solar-powered torch, a chocolate tea-pot, an inflatable dart board... They are entirely ineffectual at preventing cyclists from plunging to their deaths. As our guide put it quite concisely; "My rescue rope is 100m. The drop is 600m. You do the math."
The beginning of The World's Most Dangerous Road
When you then consider the fact that the WMDR's average width is 3.2m (scarcely enough for 1, let alone 2, vehicles), that clouds often obscure the road below, that cyclists plummet down at speeds nearing 50kph and that Death Road is not even a road but rather a higgledy-piggledy jumble of gravel, rocks, rivers, sand and branches you really have yourself a deadly cocktail. We were dicing with death, playing with fire, dining with the devil...whatever you want to call it, 60 years were shaved off our life expectancy as we mounted our bikes. Mums, we are deeply sorry.
On the edge of our seats
DISCLAIMER: We hasten to add that survival, and not suicide, was our preferred outcome of the descent, so we went to the best bikers in the business.
Our guide was a maverick renegade. Originally from Brazil, he had taken the Death Train to Bolivia to work at the Death Road. We did, however, have confidence in him and so we began our perilous adventure. We drove up to 4700m and toasted the Pachamama (the Bolivian version of Mother Earth) with 96% alcohol, dousing our bike tyres, the ground and our tongues with it. We grew used to the bikes by gliding along 22km of the smoothest tarmac until we reached the Gates of Death Road. We half-expected to see a 3-headed dog blocking the way but were instead greeted by a flock of condors circling overhead. Even the members of our group who had not seen Hitchock's 1963 masterpiece recognised that as far as omens go, this was not particularly positive.
The ride started tentatively but as the miles flew by, we grew in confidence. Numerous crosses line the WMDR to commemorate those who were less fortunate than us, and the rusting carcasses of buses also served as a chilling reminder. The road used to claim over 300 lives a year and although this number has fallen slightly, the WMDR remains the site of Bolivia’s worst ever road accident (over 100 fatalities in a 1983 pile-up). We do not like to exaggerate but the slightest misjudgement and you are staring death in the face. One mistake and you’re a gonna.
Crosses lined the route down
Due to the 3600m vertical drop between start and finish, the vegetation changes dramatically. We began the ride surrounded by rainforest but ended in scenery reminiscent of a Mediterranean country. Our victory beer tasted like survival and was sweetly savoured. We nearly choked on the last gulp, though, when we were informed that we’d have to drive back up Death Road in order to return to La Paz. Even our victory swim in an icy river did little to relieve the dread and it was not until we returned to our hostel that we knew we would live to fight another day.
Survival!
Our time in La Paz was punctuated by protests and a particularly remarkable expression of discontent took place one evening at a Dutch restaurant. The protagonists? Yours truly. We had gone out for dinner with a group of guys and gals from our hostel but the meal was a complete fiasco. The waiter simply did not appear to take our orders. Even after he materialized, the orders had to be painstakingly repeated to him, as if teaching a geriatric dolphin how to spell. We then waited 90 minutes for our food to arrive and when it did it ranged from tepid to stone-cold. The situation grew even more farcical given the food had arrived before the cutlery. 20 more minutes elapsed before the knives and forks showed up. The frozen food was then whisked away to be microwaved but was returned to us dangerously hot. We eventually decided that enough was enough and called the manager. Tom, full of panache, displayed his grasp of the Spanish language by bamboozling and battering the manager into submission. The result? We got our meals for half-price, thus saving us a considerable sum of money. The greatest irony? The food, though cold, was absolutely divine - probably the best we’ve eaten all trip. The seasoning for our potatoes was the finest this side of the Atlantic.
Some of you may be aware of the infamous San Pedro prison in the centre of La Paz. Ironically, this prison is sitting on the most expensive real estate in the city – the astounding story of this prison does not stop here. Once you are convicted by the heavily corrupt Bolivian judicial system you must pay the equally corrupt prison-guards an entry fee of 25 Bolivianos (£2.50). In regular prisons, guards are responsible for everything that occurs. In San Pedro, the sole purpose of the guards is to prevent people from breaching the perimeter. However, the guards are more than happy to allow the prisoners out for a night on the town if the bribe is large enough. The running of the prison is left to the inmates themselves. Cells – not provided for by the government – are bought and sold by inmates; prices tend to fluctuate in the San Pedro housing market in a similar fashion to the outside economy. There are 6 different standards of room, ranging from a 3m3 room to a spacious studio apartment. Every inmate is free to kit out their cell as they wish. Many own flat-screens with cable TV and even Wi-Fi.
Families tend to live with their husbands in the penitentiary. This includes the little children who are free to come and go from the prison as they please. For this reason, if a fight is going on between the inmates, as soon as a child is spotted, the word “Niño” (child) is shouted out and, by the rules of the prison, the fight must instantly stop. Some may argue their parenting skills are superior to many of those in the UK.
You may ask how the prisoners are able to make any money to pay for their stay in the prison. There are three main ways (only one legal). An inmate can buy another cell, set up their own shop or restaurant and sell goods to the other prisoners (food is not provided by the guards in the prison). We have heard that this food is better than that found outside the walls of the prison. Alternatively, they can organise crime outside of the prison – arranging the theft and ransom of cars is a favourite, which the prison guards are only too willing to assist in, as long as they get a share of the profit. The third and most shocking way is the manufacture of cocaine. The purest cocaine in the world comes from Bolivia. The best cocaine in Bolivia comes from San Pedro Prison. The children tend to be the mules to transport the drugs out of the prison. Naturally the guards are in on it, as long as they received a share of the profit. Beginning to understand the corruption of the Bolivian government yet? There is a fascinating autobiography about an English man convicted for drug trafficking who spent 6 years in this prison. It is titled ‘Marching Powder’ and Ben could not recommend it more highly. On the basis of the blurb, Ed also heartily endorses it.
Barely worth a mention, but we also visited the witch market in La Paz. We have unanimously voted this the most anti-climatic tourist attraction in the world.
Copacabana (not to be confused with its Brazilian namesake) on the shores of Lake Titicaca was the perfect remedy for the hustle and bustle of La Paz. Lake Titicaca (we’re sure there’s a pun to be found somewhere in its name – any suggestions?) is the largest high altitude lake in the world. In the middle of it is the Isla del Sol (Sun Island) where, according to Inca mythology, the Sun was born. The island is absolutely picturesque and has hardly changed since the birth of the Sun. The Island and its inhabitants could not be any further removed from the Western society we are used to, which is why we were staggered to see characters such as Winnie the Pooh, Spongebob Squarepants and ‘Ello Kitty appear on the kids’ clothes. It is truly amazing that such childhood characters transcend differences in geography and culture and appeal to youngsters both in Europe and on an isolated island numbering 2500 inhabitants.
Copacabana (not to be confused with its Brazilian namesake) on the shores of Lake Titicaca was the perfect remedy for the hustle and bustle of La Paz. Lake Titicaca (we’re sure there’s a pun to be found somewhere in its name – any suggestions?) is the largest high altitude lake in the world. In the middle of it is the Isla del Sol (Sun Island) where, according to Inca mythology, the Sun was born. The island is absolutely picturesque and has hardly changed since the birth of the Sun. The Island and its inhabitants could not be any further removed from the Western society we are used to, which is why we were staggered to see characters such as Winnie the Pooh, Spongebob Squarepants and ‘Ello Kitty appear on the kids’ clothes. It is truly amazing that such childhood characters transcend differences in geography and culture and appeal to youngsters both in Europe and on an isolated island numbering 2500 inhabitants.
We are currently in Peru about to take on the world-famous Inca Trail to Machu Picchu. Watch this space.
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